The deception of appearances
by Pranksta
Summary: When you're hot, you're hot when you're not, well, there's always a chance you will be. Booty, sticks and a burning need to live disrupt the team's order. McKaySheppard friendship. Complete
1. Chapter 1

Let's be very original this time 'round, and say a big THANK YOU to the loveliest of them all: Angela!

**Notes: **Gen/team-ish, with a lot of Sheppard and McKay, as always 

Some angst, some h/c, some stupidities and some typos, I'm sure.

Mild cursing, a bit of violence and gross stuff, no spoilers unless you're unaware of Ronon's existence, which would be quite surprising.

Enjoy! 

**Chapter 1: Ring around the booty.**

They were tall and strong. Beautiful and golden. Warriors, Pegasus style, much like Teyla and Ronon. They moved with grace, barely covered by natural fibres and leather that left little to the imagination. Long shapely legs drew the eye to perfect hips, flat and muscular stomachs, ample or sculpted pectorals as per gender. Dark eyes shone from perfectly balanced faces and full lips completed the package.

Rodney was practically swimming in drool. "Oh, this is…this is heaven," he said with a content sigh.

"Not bad." Gaze hidden by dark sunglasses, Colonel Sheppard could look his fill. There was a lot of skin to appreciate here. Skin that didn't belong to his command, his team, so he _could _appreciate. He might've been deprived of them, but he did enjoy the finer things in life, as he viewed them; a good imported beer, a steak bigger than his head, and perfectly formed, bronzed-skinned, scantily clad woman...women. Or men, he wasn't picky. He liked beauty in all its form, and he'd have barbecued steak and a roasted potato with anyone. His mouth watered for entirely culinary reasons, unlike some people he chose to associate with.

Teyla's gaze narrowed as it settled on McKay, deprived and depraved individual. "Rodney! Keep your tongue!"

"What! I haven't said anything!"

Ronon scuffed him behind the head, a move he'd learned from Sheppard and enjoyed on a daily basis. "She means keep it in your mouth! It's hanging to the ground!"

"It is not!" Rodney returned his avid eyes to the tribe of gorgeous, gorgeous people that was coming to greet them. So. Much. Beauty. They were not badly served on Atlantis, but this. Oh, this was Carter dipped in chocolate as she praised his genius. Oh, god, yes! This would fuel lonely nights for years to come. Perfect aesthetics; he'd give them fantasy brains and they would be the ultimate conquests. Strong, smart and sexy as hell.

"Be nice, we don't want to spook the natives." They all put on a smile, some more fake than others, attempting to appear like nice, civilized people.

Not that they needed have bothered.

John flicked on the charm switch and advanced with Teyla, hands resting casually on his P-90 as they so often did when confronted with members of an unknown community. "Hi!"

"Greetings," the tallest man said, raising his hand to follow his word.

"My name's John Sheppard. This here is Teyla Emmagen, Ronon Dex and Rodney McKay."

The man spoke to Teyla only, rudely ignoring Sheppard. "I am Kenoti Catesh Malpee Lariohin Shiatiameg. You may address me as Kenoti Catesh. You wish to trade?"

Ah, the simplicity of open communication. Teyla allowed her dazzling smile to shine and nodded. "Yes. We have much to offer."

"So I can see." The man's gaze flickered over Ronon and lingered over John and Rodney before returning to Teyla. "Please, follow us to the village." The welcoming committee turned back and started down the hill.

Rodney fell into step with John. "Why don't we meet that kind of native more often? Clean, tanned, half-naked natives. I could deal with that, all day, every day."

Certainly not one to spoil the fun and upset anyone unnecessarily, John kept his misgivings quiet. "Can't have you distracted by booty."

"It's been so long since I've been distracted by any booty, even Julius is starting to look good."

"What, he feeds you daily and has that nifty hairnet thing going on. What's not to like? Anyways, you've had that Wraith chick on the Aurora to give you a cheap thrill."

"Hardly! It was half a second and you ruined it!"

"As I've said, can't have you distracted by booty."

"Don't distract me today," McKay pleaded, enthralled by the bouncing motion of a perfectly rounded bottom. "Please, let me enjoy this."

"I think you're distracted enough." John shook his head, holding back a grin.

They reached the village, small huts forming a large circle around a communal fire pit. The greeting party dissolved and they were left with Kenoti as a guide. He spoke only to Teyla and Ronon, relegating John and Rodney to the back of the group.

Rodney was oblivious, eyes as big as saucers, storing away all those flesh sightings for future use. John, on the other hand, saw the looks thrown their way. Not curious, those he expected and answered with a smile or a nod, the gazes that ran over McKay and himself were unashamedly proprietary and left him uneasy. Listening with one ear to Teyla's masterful small talk, he examined their surroundings closely, noting the dense foliage bordering the village. He met Ronon's eyes and the Satedan nodded. He saw it too; the excitement that rippled through the villagers as they made their way to their final destination. Not curiosity, not 'hey, look, new people and they dress funny' interest. This was expectant enthusiasm.

They reached a bigger hut that stood removed from the circle and Kenoti invited them to enter.

Huh, not quite.

"You will remain here," he ordered, stretching a muscular arm to bar John and Rodney's way.

"Go ahead Teyla. We'll wait here." John pretended that it was his decision. He wanted to stay outside and enjoy the sun with Rodney. He was Big Bad John and everybody knew you didn't give no lip to…oh great! He'd have that song in his head until they returned to Atlantis! At least it was a good one.

One-half of his team entered the hut, frowning. John moved his hands purposefully over his P-90 and took on a protective stance. He was careful not to do too much, to avoid alarming the natives, but he succeeded in moving Rodney away from people, towards the hut entrance.

"What's that about?"

John shrugged. "Don't know. Doesn't matter, Teyla's good and Ronon's scary."

This was not a scientific mission per say, one step on the planet and Rodney had deemed it unworthy, as indicated by the lack of interesting readings. This resulted in a bored scientist who had nothing better to do than ogle the natives in their nearly naked glory.

"Rodney. Don't stare."

"I'm not staring!"

"You are. Not that I blame you, but pretty people don't like to be stared at."

"You would know!"

"Thank you." John smiled brightly and received a satisfyingly annoyed frown in return.

His attention was returned to McKay when Rodney asked, his voice filled with hope, "Do you think they have big bonfires and dancing all night type of celebrations? Some kind of ale and roasted meat?" Unbeknownst to the scientist, his hands spoke of his true motivations, slightly curved in a cupping form, palms upwards, bouncing at chest height.

John held back the bark of laughter that threatened to make him lose his 'straight man' to Rodney's antics. He reached out, lowered Rodney's hands and said, "I think they save those for their Burn the Scientist festival."

"Ha. Hahaha. Ha. Aren't you a funny little colonel! Just like the penny behind the ear trick, filled with entertaining value and intellectual stimulation."

"Sure am, it's my selling point." The flirting eyebrow waggle always aggravated Rodney far more than anything John could say.

"Umph, that's why you come so cheap."

"Touché."

Rodney smiled smugly. "It was rather good."

John nodded knowingly. "A six on the scale."

"It deserved at least an eight!"

"A six is as high as I'll go."

"Then I take back the seven from the other day when you said –"

John would not be reminded of his undoubtedly clever words as a large noise was heard from inside the hut and he rushed in to find Ronon holding two men at gunpoint. Teyla stood at his back, hands raised at chin level, one fist curled around a small combat knife, in a stance they knew far too well.

John raised his P-90 and corralled Rodney behind him with one arm. "What's up?"

"They wish to trade for you and Doctor McKay. I have respectfully informed them that you are not for trade, but they believe I intend to barter over price."

"And this leads you to push over a table and draw your weapons how?"

Teyla frowned in displeasure. "Ronon did not take kindly to the implications that we were honourless."

John nodded. "Makes sense." He watched the man standing next to Kenoti take them in with an evaluating eye.

"I believe the price we have offered is fair; especially for the fatter one."

"Hey!"

"Rodney, let it go."

"I'm not fat!"

"Rodney! Let it go."

An indignant grumble that sounded similar to "it's muscle mass" reassured John, his command would be obeyed. "Now, I'm not familiar with your ways, but we're not merchandise. We came here in peace, and now I think we'll go back in the same way." He made a head movement, indicating to his team that this was move-out time, but a startled yelp from behind had him searching Ronon and Teyla's faces for indications. Ronon's gaze narrowed further and Teyla's lips tightened. So, not a McKay Moment. He turned his head a fraction and saw, out of the corner of his eyes, his day go down the garbage chute.

Rodney was held at spear point, a trickle of blood sliding down his neck. He had gained, in the last few seconds, an escort of very big men carrying very sharp weapons. Big knives hung from what would instantly be dubbed loincloths, for the sake of clarity. The men were neatly disposing of Rodney's freedom of movement by tying thin strips of leather around his wrist, bringing his hands behind his head and securing them around his neck with a much wider strip of leather. He attempted to dislodge them but found his airway did not support his actions and closed off as a result. He was forced to rely solely on his team to save him from this particular bind.

"There's no need for that! If you'll just release Doctor McKay, we'll be on our way."

Kenoti smiled as he spoke, knowing he had won. "Drop your weapons."

No one moved except Rodney who tried to avoid the spear pressing against his delicate skin. He then went on to choke, which served to convince even Ronon that it would be wise to let go of his Precious.

No mentions were made of knives specifically; hence, the warrior's reasoning that all was not lost.


	2. Chapter 2

Love, hugs, kisses and Rodney-dreams for you, Angela. You are so GREAT!

**Notes:** Many thanks for the reviews! Wow! Such great comments, it's incredibly good for the ego :)

**Chapter 2: A pocket full of bigotry.**

"We will resolve this shortly, Colonel." With a last nod, Teyla turned away from their wooden cage and proceeded to the trading hut. Ronon seemed torn between following and guarding. John made it easier. "Go with her. We'll be fine."

Of course, that was an overly confident idiocy and Ronon knew it. He stayed put for a moment before following Teyla.

"We'll be fine!" Rodney's disbelief was palpable, filling Sheppard's environment with waves upon waves of McKay-patented aggravation. "Might I remind you that we are trussed up like turkeys?"

"It's not that bad, they've just secured our hands and feet. We'll just rest here until Teyla negotiates us out. "

"Don't tell me you believe that! Just secured our hands and feet! Yeah! To our _necks_! I'm going to get such a backache from this; I won't be able to run when Ronon kills half the population!"

"It won't matter, Teyla'll take care of the other half and we'll make our way back at any lazy pace you like."

"Right, because that happens more often than us running for our lives until our lungs explode. Huh, wait a minute…no it doesn't!"

"Minus two on that one, McKay, but extra points for the sneering."

Rodney slumped, as much as he could with the tight leather threatening to cut off his air supply every time he so much as blinked. "I'm not in top form here, you can't count that one. Fear for my life is hindering my creativity."

John examined his bindings in the hope of finding a weakness. Like Rodney, his wrists were tied behind his head, forcing him to keep his arms elevated. The leather ran around his neck, down his back, looped around his knees to end around his ankles.

They had been confined to a cage made of long, thick, supple branches, not too far from the village. Two men walked the perimeter, watching them with eagle eyes.

"What do you think they want with us?"

John shrugged and discovered that was a mistake. He managed an answer through a coughing fit. "Don't know."

"I haven't said anything and I didn't stare that much."

"It's not your fault this time."

"This time!"

"Yes, Doctor Big-Mouth-No-Filter."

"I didn't say anything!"

"No, you were too busy drooling." John pushed himself on the ground, acquiring a truckload of dirt for his loose trousers, until his back encountered Rodney's. "Here, lean back a little."

Doing as he was told was very profitable in this instance, though John's back was not the most comfortable surface Rodney had ever encountered. "You could use some padding."

"Yeah, but I wouldn't have fetched such a good price."

"That's the CO of Atlantis, ladies and gentlemen, whoring himself through the galaxy, one village at a time!"

"That's just wrong."

"Yes, I know. You should be ashamed of yourself!"

"I haven't been ashamed of myself once since I met you. I realised there was much worse out there."

"Oh shut up!"

"That's the CSO of Atlantis, ladies and gentlemen, the Genius of comebacks! Come one come all, he will destroy you with his wit! Shut up? That's the best you can do?"

"Not everything has to be pleasing. Function is much more important than style. I've found a well-delivered shut up is as functional as they come, but I'll forgive your ignorance and obsession with the puerile stylistics of this world on account of your lowly American status."

"Right. Thank God for Canadian benevolence."

--OOOOO--

Teyla came back the bearer of bad news. "You are to take part in their monthly celebration. The moon will not show itself, they will bless the peace of the dark sky with an offering, with yourself and Rodney."

"Oh my God! They do have a Burn the Scientist festival! I'm toast! Literally!"

"Rodney, calm down. They don't, I'm not a scientist and they kept me."

"Right. They probably don't know what a scientist is. Primitive Playmates!"

A snort escaped Sheppard but he quickly refocused on Teyla, whose eyes sought Ronon before she spoke. "It seems…it is the paleness of your skin that is the determining factor."

"That's just great! They're _racist_," Rodney whispered the word as if it was a curse. Like John's grandmother did when she, very rarely, spoke of _dirty _thingsAs in: "The Smith girl, you know the one who went off to the City, she and her husband are getting a _divorce._" John missed the simple life, when Grandma was the scariest thing he'd encountered with white hair and funky eating habit; he'd choose Brussels sprout and goat cheese casserole over life force any day.

"What's the offering supposed to be?"

"Us! Didn't you hear!"

"I heard; no need to shout. What are we expected to do?" This would be bad, very bad. When Teyla hesitated before speaking, it meant things were going to get a lot less fun very soon.

"You need to fight." Ronon to the rescue! Providing an answer when none would dare! He seemed intrigued by the process if not slightly jealous he could not partake in the festivities.

Rodney was not so much intrigued as scared witless. "What do you mean, fight? Fight who? I can't fight the people here! They could kill me with their toes! Their _pinkie_ toe!"

"You fight each other during the moonless night."

John could deal with that. Rodney was such a drama queen; he'd have no problem begging for mercy as John pretended to beat him to a pulp. "That's not so bad."

"You fight to the death."

It seemed John had been wrong about his evaluation of Ronon's expression. Judging by his current one, it was not so much jealousy as wanting to obliterate everyone within a ten-mile radius that motivated the large man. "Ok, that's not so good."

"Not so good! NOT SO GOOD! I can't fight to the death! I'm the one who's going down! I'll die! You military jerk, with your training and your ridiculously high level of fitness! I hate you!"

"We're not doing this." Of course, the look on Teyla's face said otherwise. "You guys go back to the village and evaluate the situation and we'll –"

"There are close to forty villagers. They are mostly armed with spears and knives, but they do have some sort of projectile weapons which seem loaded with small rocks. There has been some sparring done this afternoon, in which Ronon participated."

"They're not bad, but you could take them."

Sheppard nodded, accepting the data and compliment. AH! He was Big Bad John; of course he could take them! "Anything else? Forest around the village was pretty dense. Any chance they're not hunters?"

"They're dressed in leather! Obviously they're hunters!" Rodney's mind was rapidly filling with images of his gory death. Sheppard towering over him proudly, a foot planted on his deceased flesh, modestly accepting the cheers and applause as a multitude of women draped themselves over him. All hail John Sheppard, for he has vanquished his opponent with one strong sword swipe. Not that they had swords, but very large knife just didn't sound as good.

"I believe they know this land very well, Colonel."

"Can you get us out with more offered in trade?"

"To keep their trust, I have been forced to admit that I was hoping for a better price when we traded earlier. I have told them that while we allow you freedom amongst our people, the time has come to make better use of your lives. I have spoken of a mutual acquaintance that suggested we might acquire a sufficient amount of grain for you, here. I am afraid they are not interested in anything but yourself and Rodney, and now believe that we did intent to trade. It will allow us to leave this world. I am sorry, but it was the only way to assure our continued freedom. They do not take kindly to those who sympathise with the Pawak, as you are known. It is possible we would also be made to take part in the celebration were we to admit we held you both in high regards."

"Good thinking. You guys need to be able to leave. Anything you can do to hold up the celebration?"

"We can take them," said Ronon, the voice of crazy 'kill them all' plans.

Rodney huffed his disbelief before wording it with a healthy serving of scorn. "Of course! You can single-handedly incapacitate half the tribe, Teyla and Sheppard can take the rest while I get the heck out of here. Good plan, let's do that. Oh…oh, oh no…" Rodney's face fell and he sighed theatrically. "…I forgot. We're tied up with choke collars, not to mention outnumbered by huge warrior-type people! Are you insane? Did you and Colonel Jackass over there attend the same tactic classes?"

Not even Ronon's glare could shut McKay up. Not that it worked on anyone in the team anymore, given that they knew better than to believe Ronon would hurt them.

"Any other plans that do **not** come from the mind of a walking testosterone overdose?"

"Get backup." A simple, efficient and masterful stroke of tactical genius. Teyla and Ronon were free to go, so they should! Marvel, McKay! He didn't, but John had not truly expected him to. The mumbling coming from behind was as close to eloquent praises as Sheppard was going to get.

"The festivities are set to start with the setting of the sun. Perhaps it would be wise for one of us to remain, as a precaution."

"It's too late! The sun's going to set, in…what? Two hours? I really don't want to fight to the death! You can't mess around here!"

"No, you guys head on home and send backup. A jumper and two teams on ground. Get Lorne to pick out the men."

"We will be back shortly." Teyla nodded.

She and Ronon took off at a run and John was not sure they had heard Rodney's recommendation to make sure there be no Caucasian on the teams. Not that anyone but the two Earthlings knew what Caucasian meant and, surely, they were smart enough to think of that on their own.

Rodney now found himself with much bigger problems than he had anticipated, not the least of which was an impossible itch on his elbow. He attempted to scratch it using the rock that was his team leader's head, but that did not give the desired result.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?"

"I have an itch!"

John moved his head out of the way, effectively cutting off his air supply. Followed long seconds of coughing and cursing, interspersed with a moderate amount of whining from McKay.

"Damn it, McKay!"

"What! I have an itch!"

"I'm not a scratching post!"

Rodney lowered himself to the side and carefully rubbed his elbow against the ground, relieved when he avoided choking himself. Unfortunately, he experienced some difficulties sitting back up. Sheppard watched him with an amused grin which only served to anger Rodney. "Are you just going to watch me?"

"That's the plan."

"It's a bad one."

"What would you suggest I do? Magically untie myself to offer assistance? I'm sorry, I left my telekinesis powers at home," Sheppard said, his annoyance factor rising.

Rodney took a deep breath and bent forward, holding in his abdominal muscles in an effort to rise off the ground. The wide strip of leather dug into his skin as he pushed up with his elbow, finally managing to sit. He breathed in deeply to resume the flow of oxygen through his system.

Sheppard wished he could've helped, but was perversely amused by McKay's struggle. "It's like watching a beached whale."

"Ok, stop it! I might not be as fit as you, but I'm _not_ fat!"

"Man, you touchy much? If it's such a big deal, I'll take you on jogs more often!"

Rodney blushed, sputtered and finally harrumphed to regain his composure and avoid walking into the viper's nest laid out before him. Sheppard was denied the satisfaction of a trapped astrophysicist attempting to save himself from the horror of exercise by a deep voice coming from the left.

The guards stood straight and proud outside of the cage and the biggest one spoke. "You are to be readied for the celebration. Tonight, you will fight each other until one falls." The door to the cage opened and the speaker stepped in, followed by the two other men. He pointed his spear at them whilst they were pulled to their feet. McKay supposed he should be impressed by their little display, but he was mostly annoyed and uncomfortable. And hungry.

Forced to walk bended at an angle to avoid any unfortunate choking mishaps, John felt incredibly vulnerable and he supposed it was the point of the bindings; reduce them to being unworthy of respect, forced to grovel and bow down before these people. John had never been a victim of segregative philosophies and couldn't say he enjoyed it very much, unsurprisingly. He had always considered such thoughts to be the indication of weak minds. Nothing like a weak mind in a strong body to bring trouble to the table, and what was it with the return of Grandma's wisdom today?

They were led to a sandy area not far from the fire pit. It seemed the whole village had congregated to watch their equivalent of a coq fight. Sheppard couldn't believe they would be forced to do this! He scanned the groups that stood, eating, drinking, talking and his eyes stumbled upon Teyla and Ronon. Teyla was speaking with Kenoti, her face serious and grave. Ronon watched them being led away with ill-concealed fury, his hand stroking the weapon that hung at his side. Their eyes met. John shook his head minutely and gave a weak smile. Tonight someone would fall, but tomorrow there would be hell to pay.

Turning his attention to Rodney, John saw he had not raised his eyes from the ground; he had not seen that the rescue they so hoped for would be delayed.

Rodney's sweat glands were working overtime and he was shamefully glad when they were untied and shown to a small hut holding two buckets of water. It also held large lethal-looking sticks, imposing knives, absurd loincloth-type garments and a bowl containing what looked suspiciously like brown petroleum jelly. He considered protesting when the man informed them that they were to wash themselves, slick themselves up and slip on the primal undies, but the look Sheppard sent his way had him holding his tongue. After all, this was the man he was soon to fight to the death, it was only reasonable to keep him in a favourable state of mind.

Kenoti left them with the same two guards at the hut flap and a promise that he would return soon.

Sheppard looked at McKay's face noting the man was sweating out anxiety from each and every one of his pores. "Looks like you're going to get your dancing around the bonfire fantasy."

"That's not funny. You've just lost all your talking privileges until you pierce my heart with your mighty knife."

"Don't worry, we're not doing this."

"It wouldn't seem like we have the choice, unless you can fight forty people single-handedly! I swear, you and Ronon, two knuckleheads in charge of my precious life. It denotes a certain lack of foresight. "

Sheppard nodded and proceeded to remove his boots. "Sure, we'll mention to Elizabeth that you'd rather stay in Atlantis from now on." He smirked at Rodney's sputtered outrage, but cut in before he was bit by a ravenous retort. "We can fake this. You know how to block. Remember the training and you'll be fine. I'm not going to do anything complicated. You're pretty good with evasive manoeuvres, you focus on that and blocking, alright?"

"Blocking! Are you insane! Have you seen the size of those things!" McKay slid a finger over one of the fighting sticks. The wood was smooth and polished but the sticks were not. Imbedded at regular intervals were small, sharpened rocks; miniature spears for maximum damage. Rodney walked away from the weapons and started to undress. "How am I going to block that? This is the end of me!" He bent over to remove his boots and socks before grasping the edge of his shirt.

John folded his trousers and laid them on a wooden bench by the small table. "You'll block it because you know me, you know how I fight and I'm not going to do anything you won't expect. It won't be like training, I won't go for your weak spots. We've fought before; it's just a matter of putting on a better show. Limit the whining, the panting and the pleas for mercy and we'll be fine."

"This is not funny, Sheppard! _You're_ not funny! I don't play-fight, it's not fun for me; I'm not a Neanderthal!"

"Jeee, thanks"

A dismissive wave of the hand was all the apology Rodney would provide. "You know what I mean. I don't like sparring! I don't like training! I would avoid it altogether if you weren't so insistent!"

"Just be glad that I was, because it's going to help. Listen, all you need to do is keep your focus on me, block, evade and counter-attack."

In old greyish cotton boxers, Rodney looked more helpless than he had any right to, with arms crossed over his chest and his chin lifted in defiance. "I don't know why you think I've become Ronon and acquired all these amazing fighting capabilities. I have not and you know it because you train me," he held two fingers up in the air as he spoke, "two, count 'em, two days each and every week, and let us not mention the beatings I receive from our very own Killing Machine Barbie on top of that." The volume of Rodney's voice was rising with his anxiety. "You tell me that I suck and should work out more while Teyla is politically correct in informing me that I have potential that she wishes to see me develop! Po-ten-ti-al! I've been at it for more than a year and all I've got is suckish potential!"

John proceeded to wash non-existent grit from his body. "You're not the best fighter, you aren't supposed to be, but you'll do fine. Just remember to keep your eyes on me. I won't try anything. I'll come at you slow. Besides, they don't know what kind of fighters we are."

"Well, that makes me feel so much better. Grease me up with animal fat, hand me my sticks, knife and loincloth. I am Rodney the Robust, I will squash you like tomato!"

"That's the spirit!" Sheppard smiled brightly, though his heart hung heavy in his chest.

Rodney snorted and shook his head. "I can't believe you. Here we are, ready to fight **to the death**, and you still give me that look!"

"What look," said Sheppard with the innocence of a puppy eating through your best shoe.

"And that one is the worst! Nobody buys it anymore. We know you're a twisted individual who uses wide eyes and funny faces to his advantage. That is, of course, when the sentient outgrowths you insist on calling eyebrows aren't confusing everyone into submitting to your doubtful charm."

The left outgrowth chose to take offence at that comment and rose in outrage though the result, when coupled with the upward curl of a mouth, was one of amusement. "Listen, we'll do fine. Teyla and Ronon are going to be back with the cavalry and they'll get us out of here. We're not going to fight to the death." His was a half-truth. Teyla and Ronon would be back, probably in time for them to avoid the death part of the celebrations; there was no sense in adding to McKay's worries.

"In the meantime we still have to fight, and I don't think they're going to let us put on a harmless show out there! I don't like pain, Sheppard, I really don't."

"I know you don't, and I won't hurt you unless I have to. Worst comes to worst, I'll let you win."

Rodney ran a frustrated hand over his face and his shoulder slumped further. "You'll let me win! That's just great then! I'll bash you up with the sticks and wait for my rescue!"

"I'd rather you didn't…but you listen to me and listen to me good. If we don't have the choice, I want you to win. Got it?"

"I'm not going to kill you to save my ass, Sheppard! I certainly am not going to beat you down a few IQ points with a club! Are you insane? I'm not!"

"It's not going to get to that. All you need to do is take me out temporarily and get me to Atlantis. Beckett can fix anything."

Rodney's eyes widened and his complexion dropped a shade closer to his boxers. "I can't–"

John grabbed Rodney's bicep and squeezed, as much to reassure him as to bully the man into acquiescing to his demands. "You do it! There's no can't about this. You. Can. Do. Anything. You've told us often enough." He released his hold and turned his back on Rodney's unconvinced features. "Now quit your whining and get on with it!"

"I can't do this. I really, really can't."

"I don't want to hear it."

The flap parted ways with the hut and Kenoti walked in. He frowned at the sight of the two pale men in the midst of an intense conversation. "You are not ready and it is nearly time. If you do not do as you must, I will see that it is done for you. Hide your pale with the ointment and wear the weaker one's coverings."

"We'll be ready, give us a minute."

"I have nothing to give you! Be ready when I return, or you will be sacrificed to the Fiery Ones tonight!"

"Sacrifice! When did this become sacrifice!"

Kenoti stood in the opening to the hut, a stripe of orange falling across his shoulder as the sun set. "It is as you choose. You will fight willingly or we will offer both of you. One will live; both will perish, it is of your choosing." He exited the hut.

"Fiery Ones! This is your fault, with your jokes, you tempted fate. You tempted fate! Sacrifice!" Rodney's exclamations were more squeaks than anything else and it pulled at John's sensibilities.

Picking up the bowl, and watching Rodney with a stern gaze, Sheppard poked a finger into the ointment, noting its slimy texture and the faint bronze colour it left on his skin. What kind of sick ritual was this? They paint them up, cover the offensive colour of their skin with a golden sheen and force them to fight each other? They make them to their image and watch them die. Why? What was the point! The people here were not hateful, apparently considered what would take place at sundown a simple form of entertainment! Why!

In a mirror of John's interrogations came Rodney's spoken words. "You know, I've been hated for my personality, my genius, but never for this very fair skin. It's a curse, it burns, it itches, it breaks out over the slightest thing, but it's never forced me to play samurai before."

"We'll be okay," John said, slathering himself golden.

Rodney nodded and proceeded to do the same. There was no use in protesting, he'd rather accept Sheppard's lamentable reassurance.


	3. Chapter 3

Angela! Yeah!

**Notes:** Many thanks for the nice comments! I want to answer, but can't remember which ones I've replied to and which ones I haven't, so, uh, collective thanks! I appreciate it, much more than I can say.

**Chapter 3: The cowards are in the meadow, lying fast asleep.**

Sticky and uncomfortable, they made their way to the centre ground, two golden warriors gleaming in the firelight. Rodney tried not to pull on his loincloth but failed spectacularly, nearly yanking the leathery covering completely off. Low-rise loincloth, the must-have of the season. At least they had been allowed to keep their boxer shorts.

He followed John's perfection and felt ill at ease in his flawed intellect-driven body. He was not beautiful and women's eyes did not follow his awkward movements, something for which he was grateful, tonight. If they wanted to watch Sheppard strut his stuff, they were more than welcome. Not that the Colonel was showing off at all, he was just comfortable in his own skin, wasn't he? So comfortable, he could ram that knife into Rodney's heart in a second. Not that he would. No, certainly not, Colonel Sheppard would rather have Rodney beat him with sticks and plunge the horribly long knife into his flesh, would rather bleed for Rodney than make him bleed. How horrifying…and brave, and selfless, and remarkable and all those other things that drove Rodney insane. McKay fervently hoped it wouldn't come to that, he would not do it, could not, and would forsake them both.

There was no incentive for Rodney to fight. Sheppard was not an enemy, not a threat. It was not something he would later be able to explain and reason. He would never be able to lift the guilt that assailed him whenever he was forced to kill another living being. He couldn't do this, it was not self-defence, no matter how Sheppard rationalised it. Die or kill his best friend? What kind of choices were these?

The villagers formed a large crescent around them, removed from the firelight, concealed in the shadows. John's eyes were fixed on Rodney's and his words ran through Rodney's mind in a circular pattern that mimicked the one they were tracing on the ground.

_Follow me, watch me. Remember training, you know how I fight. Move slowly; keep your movements fluid and controlled. _

They moved to the left, circling each other with precise steps. Sticks flew through the air with a slight wind; breathing was laboured by tension and fear. The light fell upon them only, the villagers hidden beyond its reach.

_Watch and learn, McKay. Watch and learn. Hit, but avoid stomach, head and, uh, my parts._

Rodney had rolled his eyes at the sly grin that had appeared on Sheppard's intent face. He had not voiced his objections further. Sheppard knew his was a ridiculous plan, knew Rodney could never harm him willingly, could not pierce his flesh with the knife, beat him with the heavy sticks, take his life away. He would not be the one to deprive the universe of that stupid, flirtatious grin. He could not kill John Sheppard to save his life!

John held the large sticks tightly in his hands and swung them from the end, forming circles in the air. He moved as Rodney did, to the left, circling, waiting for Rodney to give the signal. When McKay felt confident, he would change the direction of his sticks abruptly and watch for John's attack. He had asked John to initiate the first attack, to help him pretend he was only defending himself. McKay needed to pretend this was not murder but the only way for him to live. John would gladly offer this service.

Rodney just didn't see that, tonight, they were enemies. The friendship they once shared had to be forgotten. Here, with the cooling sand under their feet, by the light of the fire, they were foe. John had always known Rodney did not see things as he should, for these missions. His loyalty ran too deep and made it impossible for him to 'turn the humanity off' as Sheppard, Ronon and Teyla had learned to do. Sheppard was a hypocrite when it came to his team. He would sacrifice himself to see them safe, but would not allow a similar behaviour from them. Rodney was stubbornly screwing up his plan!

McKay gave the signal and John swung his sticks on the horizontal plane from the left to the right, indicating the way Rodney should move to avoid the hit. It was a good show, John was skilled and Rodney certainly tried his best. Sheppard knew Rodney was frightened, but they could do this, they fought together regularly, and although the scientist would never be a master in the art of self-defence, which was mostly what John taught him, he could hold his own. Sheppard was not without fear himself, but he hadn't lied, Rodney could block John easily when it came to known moves, to the routinely familiar. John believed in McKay's abilities, he could do this, if he would only follow orders.

Sweat dripped from the two men, from the exertion of controlling the heavy stick, from fear and the heat of the fire. The crowd was eerily quiet; it didn't fill the Colonel with confidence. If this was entertainment, if it was a night of celebration, should there not be cheering or at the very least idle chatter? Shouldn't voices be covering the sound of the light wind, the sticks cutting through the air and the nearby bonfire crackling?

John attacked with the same rhythm until he could be sure Rodney's mind was focused solely on him and the weapons he yielded. When he knew fear had taken second place in the considerable mind of his opponent, he allowed himself some diversity. It would keep Rodney alert and help them assure the illusion of the fight. He thrust forward aggressively and watched proudly as Rodney moved, his bronzed body sliding away from the sticks without difficulty. He was a good student, quick study.

Sheppard lost himself in the technique, the fluidity of the movement, his muscles moving with remembrance as they were asked to perform familiar tasks. Sheppard could see that Rodney's concentration was solely on him and it made such a difference. No complaints, no longing thoughts for the lab, for the mess hall, for his bed, Rodney was all his; moving with purpose, his eyes hard and piercing, as if John was a problem to be resolved. It was such a visceral experience to be fighting this man; perseverance and strength turning him into a decent fighter. There was no time for play here, there was only this; two men, John Sheppard and Rodney McKay, opposed and unified.

They managed to fool the villagers for longer than John had expected, but when they started showing signs of fatigue, Kenoti stepped forward and stopped the fight. "You are required to fight, not merely offer us your lack of skills! You will both face the Fiery Ones," he said, pointing at the inferno illuminating the centre ground," if you are unwilling to give us what we require. Your traders will be made to pay for their insolence. We have been kind enough to invite them to enjoy this rare event with us, but will not hesitate to take what we are owed from them!"

Rodney frowned but Kenoti's word gained an unbearable weight when Teyla and Ronon were pushed into the light behind him. Kenoti smiled and turned to them, speaking with all the confidence he knew to be deserved, "This has been a peculiar trade, but we are glad you have chosen to stay to witness the Pawak you have brought us put to good use."

Rodney felt the sting of their plan crashing and burning upon him. Ronon and Teyla's faces were hard and set; only their eyes spoke of the shame and guilt they carried.

To McKay and Sheppard they were friends playing the part of owners. To all others they had been honourless traders, deceitful in their attempt to fetch a higher price, but were now accepted as allies. By staying for the night's festivities, they had proved themselves trustworthy and would be free to return to their home in the morrow.

Kenoti and the greeting party they had met earlier had intercepted them before they could reach the gate. He had insisted they join himself and his people in a celebratory feast, following the offering to the dark sky. Teyla and Ronon knew the choice was not theirs. They would have to play the part and allow their friends to come to harm so they could regain the safety of Atlantis.

Kenoti turned back to the fighters. "You will fight or you will be sacrificed tonight. We have always held the offering of Pawak in high regards, but will resort to old practices if we must." Kenoti, Teyla and Ronon retreated to darkness, leaving Sheppard and McKay alone in the confine of the lighted circle.

Eyes wide, Rodney nodded in understanding but never in acceptance. He had lost the confidence he had acquired; he had no hope of rescue and everything to lose. John drew closer to him, under the guise of clasping his shoulder tightly in a sign of friendship, which was accepted by the villagers as normal behaviour; friends said goodbye before beating the snot out of each other. "Do it, take me down," he whispered as he left his handprint on the scientist's shoulder, taking a fine layer of sweat and ointment with him when he removed his palm from the warm skin it had touched.

Rodney couldn't. He had not wanted to harm Kavanagh, not so long ago, and was no more capable of hurting Sheppard. His hands would not be tainted by the blood of the man standing before him.

They circled and circled and circled.

Rodney had thought of nothing but the combat before Kenoti's interruption, but now he thought of nothing but its end. Sheppard's gaze called him, commanded him. A tilt of the head asked too much; _do it, take me down,_ it repeated to him, _take me down._ Sheppard asking to be incapacitated, letting Rodney seize his strength. He couldn't.

Defeat cried out to John, the face of his friend as familiar as his own, the message there as clear as the spoken word. A decision had been made and it was the wrong one. Rodney had chosen to go against John's wishes, his orders! Sheppard thrust forward, hitting Rodney's thigh with a loud thwap, the small, sharp rocks piercing the skin.

Pain served as a warning, spoke for him. _Do it, Rodney, do it_, it said, _or it will get worse_.

The Colonel spoke to McKay through the communicative medium of non-verbal communication. Rodney felt sick, enraged, afraid and sad that this galaxy offered so much in pain and so little in gain. How could he choose to beat a friend in order to avoid a beating himself? How could Sheppard ask this of him? They both knew Rodney was not brave enough, not strong enough to commit such acts.

Defeat, denial, refusal is all Sheppard saw and it infuriated him. Why couldn't Rodney simply follow orders or at least his sense of self-preservation! It was a healthy one, why did it have to hightail it now? It was not a time for fear! John narrowed his eyes, glared in what he hoped a fierce manner that promised Rodney terrible things were he to ignore his duties. Take me down, he thought with all his might, take me the fuck down.

McKay would not. They could all see the events unfold before a decisive move was made. Rodney's features told of forfeit. He no longer held himself in a defensive stance, his posture inviting Sheppard to take him, dispose of him and his life. Sheppard wanted to resist, to be the strongest one, to break McKay's will. Teyla and Ronon itched to end the battle of wills, to take matters into their own hands and go down with the villagers, rather than watch a friend kill another.

John was forced to hit Rodney, to hurt him in the hopes that the scientist would retaliate. Rodney blocked and evaded but never responded. He simply moved and watched John, wide blue eyes screaming out in fear.

Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Kenoti move. He was assailed momentarily by visions of his life ending in ashes as Rodney cried out, his hand reaching out for him through the flames. No. NO! "Damn it, McKay!"

One stick hit Rodney's in a dull tunk.

Tunk. Tunk tunk. Tunk. Tunk tunk.

He cut through Rodney's defences without difficulties, knowing his technique, expecting the next move. His sticks collided with various parts of Rodney's anatomy leaving small red welts were the rocks pierced the skin. Rodney cried out every time he was struck. He attempted to block but was unable to evade John. McKay was predictable, true to form and easy to defeat.

Sheppard felt the sticks hit, felt Rodney's pain through his cries. Each moan, each pain-filled noise made Sheppard wince. He loved and hated Rodney with the same intensity, in the same instant. One thought ran through his mind and he whispered the words. "I can't kill you. I can't kill you. I can't kill you."

Rodney did not attack, forcing John to take care of the night's event. The Colonel was skilled, he was strong; it was only right that Rodney be the one to fall. A second blow to his left shoulder made him drop one stick. Perhaps his decision to reach for it had been a foolish one, or perhaps John was too involved in the fight. Nevertheless, one of John's sticks collided powerfully with Rodney's face as he made a movement for his own stick. McKay felt the left side of his face throb in pain for only a second. He was jerked backward, falling head first to the sand. It was only his luck that hidden beneath the sand laid a slab of hard rock. Just his luck that his head would find the hardest surface to crash against and would do so roughly, procuring him a first class ticket to unconsciousness.

John watched as Rodney fell, heard the sound of two solids colliding.

"Rodney!" He rushed to his side, pushing away the villagers that attempted to block his path. They had invaded the centre ground when Rodney had fallen. On the edge of his awareness stood Teyla and Ronon fighting to break through the crowd that suddenly enclosed the circle of firelight that had illuminated the night's celebration.

"Take him!" Kenoti ordered to the men closest to John.

John attempted to fight off the hands that seized him. "Rodney!"

There was no movement, no sound coming from Rodney who continued to lie on the ground as John was dragged away. He watched the villagers turn away from his downed team-mate, leaving him alone with his injuries.

"You can't leave him there!" John fought against the strong hold of arms around him until he felt the tip of a knife press into his side.

"Do not struggle!"

"He's injured! His head! There could be brain damage!"

He was thrust forcibly into the hut he and Rodney had left less than an hour ago. He turned towards his guards to find them smirking at him.

"That will facilitate your victory, when he comes back to the world and is ready to fight once more."

The hut flap fell and John was left alone with his rage and his worry. Rodney had…fallen…like a rock.

John held back the mirthless laugh that thought brought forth. Like a rock. Like the rocks that had cut small holes in the skin, like the rock that had made that dreadful sound when Rodney's cranium had encountered it.

Rodney. Had hit his head. Hard.

John let his anger take over, if only for a moment. He picked up the bowl of ointment Rodney had used and contemplated throwing it against the side of the hut. It would hit with an unsatisfying sound and John's blood would boil. It was best to calm down, stay quiet.

No sooner had he reached that decision that a young woman stepped into the hut bearing a tray of food. She regarded him with open curiosity. He watched her too as she brought hot water, "Water to wash the victorious one," she said and left him with a time limit. "Kenoti will come for you once he has tended to his duties."

Duties. That did not bode well. John walked to the bucket. He washed the grit from his skin, entertaining grim thoughts. His hand slid against his skin and uncovered his true colour. He was not a man who would beat another for the sole purpose of saving himself.

No. He was. He would. John washed the bronze from his face.

He was not a man who would beat a friend, a colleague, an innocent for the sole purpose of saving himself.

No! He was. He would. He _had!_ It had been unavoidable! They both would have died if he hadn't acted! Rodney had been afraid; he would not have done a thing. He had gotten that stubborn look.

"Nice, John, real nice. Blame the guy you beat up." He shook his head before repeating softly, "Blame the guy you beat up."

The necessity of his actions did not lessen the guilt he felt.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes:** Thank you, so much. It's amazing how good you guys are to this fic!

**Chapter 4: The King has sent his fighter, to the pond of water.**

"Rodney!" Teyla struggled to fit her slight body through the gaps between the toned villagers. A large hand landed on her shoulder. She looked up the arm it was attached to and eventually encountered Ronon's eyes.

"We have to contact Atlantis."

Teyla drew in a deep, calming breath. Her instinctive reaction was to take action, to protect and assist, but Ronon had prioritised sensibly. His hand guided her away from the throng of villagers, towards a removed area where Kenoti stood with a few of his people.

He smiled when he saw them approach. "Teyla! Ronon! We are most pleased with this trade!" He indicated the centre ground with a nod of his head. "They had a difficult beginning, but the results should prove worthy! We need only to wait for this one to wake until the fight can be completed. It would be much simpler to allow the victorious party to sacrifice the fallen one, but less rewarding."

Teyla smiled stiffly. "We will be returning to our world."

Kenoti's smile faded slightly. "Will you not be staying until the end? It is dark and the Ring of the Ancestors stands a long way from our village."

"We thank you for your hospitality, but must be returning. Our people will worry about our lengthy absence."

"Of course. Please, allow me to offer you a guide."

Ronon took his gaze away from McKay's body, lying on the ground amidst the feet of dancing villagers. None paid the scientist the least amount of attention; he was as much part of the ground as the sand. They danced with controlled precision though it appeared to be reckless abandon. Sweat on their bronze skin was highlighted by the flickers of light making them appear to be glowing. Surreal apparitions in the moonless night.

Ronon held himself tensely, wishing they did not have to play the games of diplomacy in order to save their team-mates. He consoled himself with the thought that they would come back and wreak havoc on these people. The people who threw dirt in McKay's face, disrespected the scientist and left his head against the slab of rock that had made him oblivious.

He stepped forward, coming to stand directly beside Teyla as she said, "That won't be necessary. We will need light, but we can find our way."

Kenoti raised his hands in protest. "Please, I insist. You have brought much to my people. It had been too long since we had the chance to praise the darkest nights. We are grateful." He smiled, it seemed genuine. "I will accompany you myself. There are customs to be observed, when a warrior is temporarily incapacitated, but none more important that the correct treatment of trading partners."

Teyla had learned, early in life, to be respectful of other's beliefs. Since the Earthlings arrival, and her departure from her people, she had struggled to uphold her morals, to be true to herself and her parent's teachings.

Never more so than today.

She was glad Ronon could intimidate, no matter who he faced. He stood too close, glared too fiercely, spoke too low and obtained what he demanded. Kenoti provided them with a torch, thanked them again for the joy they had brought to his people and sent them on their way.

Teyla and Ronon walked in contemplative silence, the light allowing them limited visibility. Neither were worried of losing their way, being accomplished in the art of spatial orientation. It had always been a source of amusement to the Pegasus galaxy natives that both McKay and Sheppard needed instruments to find their way on the ground. As a team they completed each other well, all of them strangers to a new world, a new home, to Atlantis and its wonders.

Once they were out of sight of the village and its inhabitants, the careless walk became a slow jog and quickly grew into a run. They pushed their bodies toward the gate, faster, until their breaths came in short gulps, sweat poured down their backs. The torch was discarded in favour of the slight luminosity of the ring that stood a few hundred metres away, drawing them in. They ran with the thought of a gentle burr accompanying strong and capable hands. They ran to the jumpers, the soldiers, to help and freedom.

Their people had been taken. They would take them back.

**--OOOOO--**

Kenoti stepped into the hut. No longer were his features hard. He seemed content.

"You have been tended to, I see."

Rising from his seat on the ground, John disregarded the man's attempt at civility. "Where's Doctor McKay?"

"Recovering from the fight. He will be ready to fight again soon"

"I want to see him."

Kenoti smiled and moved from the entrance to the hut, allowing two guards to step forward. They flanked John on either side and walked him out.

"Take him to the centre ground, they shall shortly resume the fight," Kenoti said, following.

They neared the centre ground, where celebrations were underway. There was dancing, but no music. Laughter, but no words. It was a controlled chaos; a strange waltz that seemed to be known by all but retained no precise form or order.

John felt the hands that held him tighten their grasp. They were wise to do so. "McKay," he shouted, fighting to free himself.

Rodney lay on the ground; he had neither moved nor been moved. He was being covered in sand as it was kicked by careless feet, still unconscious from hitting his head. Hard. Too hard.

Sheppard had been washed and fed whilst McKay had been left to…do what? To recover? To suffer? To…

"Rodney!" John fought harder and was surprised when he managed to get free. He ran to Rodney, pushing villagers aside viciously. Sheppard knelt by Rodney's side and began brushing the sand away from his face. "Rodney. Rodney! Wake up. Come on, come on!"

He tapped his cheek lightly as he spoke his name. "Rodney. Rise and shine, it's time now. Come on, buddy, open those eyes."

He slapped the same cheek and pinched a flank.

"Wake up! I'm not kidding!" He bent lower and spoke directly in McKay's ear. "Do as you're told, Rodney McKay, for once in your goddamn life!"

John felt the weight of the world ease off his chest when one eyelid lazily lifted. "Hey there."

"Nnnnugh…"

"Not bad. Try again, more vowels, less consonants."

"…ohnn?"

"Yes, very good. Me John, you Rodney."

The eyelid dropped back.

"None of that." John reached out, lifted the lazy lid and peered into one cloudy blue eye. "You need to stay awake. Can you move?"

The battered and slightly swollen face scrunched in a frown. Kenoti chose that moment to gesture to his guards. They pushed John away, grabbed Rodney's legs and dragged his body away.

"Stop! No, I'll take him." John hurried to his feet and followed closely. Rodney struggled mildly and the guards continued to ignore John's demand of release. Rodney's back left a trail in the sand. His eyes were wide and frightened, fixed on John who was attempting to grab him by the shoulders and lift him off the ground.

The guards yanked Rodney out of his grip and the man fell back to the ground with a moan. They dragged McKay to a pond and threw him in. He attempted to stay afloat but confusion and disorientation drove him under. John stood frozen, watching Rodney disappear beneath. Deprived of air, covered with mud, submerge by water, threatened with fire; Rodney had become the fifth element. Quintessence was not a concept Sheppard would have associated with McKay in anything other than particle physics, but if he didn't react soon, his friend would indeed become the substance composing heavenly bodies.

"What are you doing!" Sheppard shouted, heading towards the edge of the pond, toeing off his unlaced boots.

"The water will revitalise and purify him."

"He'll drown!" Sheppard yelled angrily as he splashed through the water.

Kenoti watched the waves created by Rodney's plunge and John's subsequent wading. "He needs to be conscious and clean to resume the fight."

"He wouldn't be unconscious and dirty if you hadn't left him lying in the sand, and if I can't find him he won't be conscious for long!"

The night was opaquely dark this far from the fire. There was nothing but the senses of touch and hearing to ground Sheppard as he battled with demons he knew intimately. Uncertainty, worry. He plunged in after Rodney, frantically searching the thick, muddy ink spill that was the pond. John swam, submerged, arms outstretched, for long seconds before the need to breathe forced him to rise above and rely on sound. He heard the faraway noises of a celebration, the song of a nocturnal bird, the chirps of bugs, the cries of beast, the cracking of the trees; the bubbling of a breath released under water. Sheppard moved carefully, following the sound, grateful for the shallowness of the area in which he was moving. He startled when he felt the current shift and something brush against his leg. He reached for the disturbance in the water; his hands encountered supple flesh over hard muscle and he pulled it to him. His arms encircled Rodney's torso and he lifted him out of the water, holding him tightly against his chest.

A gurgling cough was followed by warm water spilling over Sheppard's shoulder and down his back. The chest he held expanded. Breathing. "Rodney? You okay?" He shook him slightly in the hopes of gaining a response. "You okay?" Rodney's bottom lip pressed against John's shoulder where his chin rested, chilling the skin with delightfully alive gasps. Arms wrapped around John, hurting him. He tightened his hold. "I've got you, Rodney." He walked backward through the water, his feet sinking into the muddy ground. "Let's get you to dry land, hmm?" He reached the edge of the pond, away from Kenoti and the guards who were looking upon them with patiently amused gazes, and laid Rodney on his back. John climbed out and pulled his cargo away from the water.

"You okay?"

Rodney's breathing was fast, panicked. Sheppard spoke softly, "Everything's alright, I got you. You're okay." Sheppard rested a hand on Rodney's wet hair, feeling for a bump at the back of his head with his fingers, and letting McKay know he was near. In his state, Rodney would not listen, not hear the words until touch reached and settled him as it had John moments before. It would ease both their anxiety and fear to be in physical contact for more time than the casual pat of the shoulder could provide.

John felt movement and caught a wandering hand that aimed for the injured head between his own. "Headache, uh? Not uncommon when you take a fall like that. You were impressive; the judges gave you a perfect score." He pushed the hand down and laid it to rest gently on Rodney's cold stomach. The air was cool against John's skin and on Rodney's chilled body. A light wind played naughtily with Rodney's loincloth, lifting it slightly before letting it fall in an unpleasant flapping sound of leather against wet skin. "You need to talk to me, Rodney. How're you feeling?"

"…crap…"

"Is it just your head?"

"…everything, "said Rodney, in a tired voice, his eyes shutting.

"Hey, stay with me. You can't sleep. Not yet." John feared Rodney would never wake again if he allowed him a moment's peace. You never knew what could develop with head injuries. Whilst Sheppard knew that conscious speech was a very good sign, he could not shake the worry.

"You're going to be fine. Teyla and Ronon will be back soon."

"Saw them…during the…fight."

"Yeah, but they're gone. I didn't see them anywhere. They've probably reached Atlantis by now."

"I don't want to…"

The non-sequitur threw John. "You don't want to what?"

Rodney whimpered as he shifted and Sheppard moved his free hand back to the wet and probably aching head. He brushed away droplets of water threatening to fall from Rodney's brows into his eyes.

"Fight…"

There was a sudden stillness to the night. John was unable to split the distress and relief Rodney's comment unearthed and struggled to provide an adequate answer. "I…" he started, unable to find the words to complete his sentence. He was angry and proud, desperate and hopeful, team leader and friend; none and all concurrently.

Rodney spoke in a whisper, pleading, vulnerable and intense. "Don't make me do it…I can't. You, end it…" His breathing sped up, lifting his chest in short, gasping bursts.

Sheppard wanted to hate Rodney for his weakness, but knew the man was confused. Rodney did not realise what he was saying and it was, now more than ever, John's duty to protect him by any means necessary. "It'll be okay, Rodney. We'll be fine. I'll take care of it." Sheppard did not know what he meant, how he would do it, but he would say anything to ease McKay's fears. "It's okay," he whispered, as he heard footsteps approach, "we'll be fine."

"Take him," Kenoti said, judging that Doctor McKay had sufficiently recovered from his plunge.

The guards took hold of Rodney and forced him to stand. They frogmarched him back toward the fire and John was compelled to follow, Kenoti on his heels.

"He won't be able to fight."

"He will. Water can wake the most addled of minds."

"He can't even stand!"

"Then the fight will be made easier for you."

John walked, eyes fixed on the uncoordinated man that was forced to use energy he did not possess to stay upright and conscious. "Funny, I've heard that one already."


	5. Chapter 5

Angela, you are the best!

**Notes:** Thank you so much for reading and commenting. You guys are fantastic!

**Chapter 5: The birds upon the steeple, fry high above the people.**

They reached the centre ground. The fire had been fed; it was climbing high, sparks rising in the air. The guards let go of McKay and he fell to the ground, boneless. Sand mixed with the water on his skin, covering him with a film of mud. The wounds that had been rinsed in the pond filled with dirt once more. One guard grabbed him by the arm and his legs unfolded from beneath him as he was pulled to his feet. His whole body listed to the right, his arms hung limply at his side, his eyes partly hidden beneath heavy lashes. He swayed in the gentle breeze; cold, muddy and disoriented.

John took hold of the knife that was handed to him without breaking his gaze; as if the sheer power of his will would make Rodney move, force him to take a step and engage him in fight.

"Fight!" Kenoti's voice broke through both men's thoughts. He had retreated from the circle of light, joining his people. They were no longer completely hidden by the darkness but stood in a circle around Sheppard and McKay. The light illuminated their impassive faces. They simply watched, blinking slowly and evenly.

Rodney's eyelids lifted. He saw a blurry shape, identified it as Sheppard and watched it intently. He realised something was being forced in his hand. He raised it to his chest, bending his head to get a closer look. It glinted into the firelight, hard edges and sharp lines. Knife…the big knife Ronon would have loved. The knife he was supposed to use to kill John, because rescue had been delayed. "No…"

As the guard retreated, John saw Rodney's mouth move and his head shake in refusal. This would not do. Rodney had to realise that this was the only way; that he was the one needed in Atlantis. The one who brought the city to life, who could make her sing. He had the magic hands, the magic touch. He _had_ to be rescued. Sheppard spoke, loudly. "Do it, Rodney."

The eyes lifted from the knife. Rodney shook his head as vehemently as he could manage. "I can't…don't make me." His voice was high and pleading. "Please, John." He couldn't. He didn't want to! Sheppard had the best chance of getting out of here. Rodney was cold, scared and useless and he would never be able to save himself. John Sheppard could get out of any situations; he had proven it more than once. Racist natives were no match for his iron will.

The pleas cut through John as surely as the knife would. Before him stood a McKay he so rarely encountered. Lost, crushed, hopeless. He hated it! Where was the McKay who whined for show before pulling through! That was the man John needed! "Do it!"

Rodney's face collapsed before a trace of spirited conviction crossed it. "I can't," he said, more forcefully.

"You can and you will!"

"I can't kill you. I'm not…strong…it'll be easy for you." Rodney opened his hand and let the knife fall.

It planted straight into the sand before falling back, the blade digging into the ground. Rodney moved his palms upward, extended his arms at his side in a gesture of defeat. He lost his balance along with the weight of the knife and took a step in an effort to stay upright. This was not about giving up, about taking the easy way out. It was about Sheppard; giving him a chance, allowing him to live. Death would be mercifully painless when compared to a lifetime spent with the memory of the man. McKay loved life, knew he didn't deserve to die, but he would not be able to shoulder the weight of guilt, of disgust. Many had died from his actions but no one would ever die from his hands.

"Pick it up, McKay! Pick it up!"

"John. Just do it."

Out of the corner of his eyes, Sheppard saw Kenoti cross the threshold of light and approach them, his face set in a hard line.

"Pick up the damn knife!" he said, moving closer to Rodney.

Kenoti stopped in his stride and watched Sheppard pick the knife from the ground and place it in Rodney's hand. John's eyes locked onto Rodney's, his knife-less hand descended on a wet shoulder and his voice was pitched menacingly low. "Take your goddamn knife and do what you're told! This is my show, McKay. You're not going to take it from me. I run this mission, just like every mission before, and what I say goes. What _I_ say. **Goes**!"

He released Rodney and stood before him in a defensive stance, knife raised, one foot slightly in front of the other to anchor his weight.

"Don't…"

"Swing it. You do what you're told or we'll both go."

Pleading blue eyes shone out of a frightened face. "I _can't_. I'm...just, end it. Make it stop." Rodney took in a deep breath. "I can't, I won't fight you."

John sighed his frustration away. How did you tell your best friend that you couldn't care about him and his pain? Did you tell him that it was for his own good and hope he believed it? Sheppard was saved the difficulty of finding suitable words by Kenoti, who seemed to have had enough of their feud.

"If you will not fight, you will meet the Fiery Ones!"

Sheppard turned to Kenoti with barely restrained fury. "Give us a minute!"

"I will not give you anything! **You** are to provide! FIGHT!"

Turning back to Rodney, John grabbed his shoulder and dug his fingers in the skin hard enough to bruise. "Do you hear this? Do you hear that man? You know what's going to happen."

Rodney's hands clasped down on John's arm and he looked in his eyes, his gaze intense and pleading. "Do you hear me? Listen to _me_. I can't! It's not one of those times when the task seems impossible but I'm willing to try. John. I can't!"

"You are compromising our offering! Take them! Prepare for the Fiery Ones!"

"NO!" Sheppard fought off the guards that attempted to take McKay away. He swung the knife with control and strength, cutting one guard's throat open in a slick and quick movement. He managed to injure another before he and Rodney were taken down. Villagers that had stayed on the edge of the circle of light surrounded them.

Arms and legs forced to spread wide by the beautiful people, Sheppard felt his wrists and ankles being tied with strips of leather. He was arranged over a wooden frame, held together in a square with a cross in the middle by the same leather they used on him. His hands were attached to the upper corners, ankles to the lower ones, and his waist was secured to the wooden plank behind him.

Sheppard could not believe this was happening! Travel to a different galaxy to find the same narrow-minded behaviour he thought he would leave behind! Human beings were stupid! Idiots! Afraid of difference, afraid it would undermine them and their convictions! MORONS! People were the same everywhere! Bigots were like the cockroaches of the universe; ugly, useless and enduring!

"The fire! They're going to burn us! I've done this before, once was enough! JOHN!"

It seemed McKay had realised what was happening, what the villagers were doing. Sheppard, restrained by the villagers a few feet behind, could only see Rodney's body trashing as he attempted to free himself. It was too easy to picture the look of fear that had befallen him; wide eyes searching the environment for a solution, mouth drooping to the side in permanent dissatisfaction.

Sheppard knew how to work the anxiety he could imagine in those eyes; replace it with determination. "Rodney! Stop screaming! Calm down!"

The fire burned on the left of Sheppard, but he could see a few villagers building another mountain of wood. For them. For him and Rodney. Sheppard felt nothing, the numbness he had been trained to find fell over him like an old jacket.

Rodney's mind had cleared and he regretted it. He wanted the earlier confusion. He had been terrified for long hours, ever since the tip of a spear was pressed against his neck. Made to fight with Sheppard, thrown in the water, left to drown, made to fight Sheppard again, with knives, big and lethal knives and now…fire. Burned alive. Screaming, writhing in agony, overwhelmed by pain.

"JOHN!" Rodney yelled and hoped for an answer, for anything. He hoped Sheppard would think of something, do something, say the words that would make this all right. Be the hero. That's what he was, that's what he needed to be. Rodney knew Sheppard was simply a man with a passion for the sky, no more and no less than himself, but he always found a way to make things better. Rodney trusted him and needed his strength. When the voice came, it was closer and Rodney turned his head in the direction of the blessed sound.

"Rodney. Calm down. Breathe."

Rodney's eyes wandered over Sheppard's body, tied to a wooden frame that was carried forward into his line of sight. "John." He had no words, nothing to say. Just a name, the only thing he had to hold onto.

"It's okay. Breathe. Concentrate on your breathing. Don't think about anything else."

The villagers were done with their tying and their building. Rodney and John were placed atop the pile of wood, back to back, the wooden frames resting against a central spike. The numbing, unfeeling jacket that was his only defence in a situation like this was ripped away from Sheppard and he stretched his hand to touch McKay. He bumped Rodney's fingers with his. Rodney curled his index finger around John's and held tightly.

"Why is it always the hot ones that are crazy?" Rodney said, over the joyous cacophony of the villagers.

"Because the universe is fair?"

Rodney snorted. It sounded too wet and weak to reassure Sheppard. "This is…if I'd just done. Something. Maybe we could've bought time and –"

"You know I hate it when you do that."

Rodney's speech was mired by anxiety. "I couldn't…take it. Do it. With my hand…cu-u-ut you."

Kenoti approached them with a torch, speaking words neither of them wanted to hear. The villagers quieted, standing still, glowing beautifully in the firelight. The torch drew closer to the base of the pyre upon which Sheppard and McKay were.

Sheppard tightened his hold on Rodney's sweaty fingers when the flame licked the wood below them. He fought to forget, concentrated on Rodney's gasping apology.

"I should've…John. I'm so…"

"You do this every time. You can't control everything. Stop it, okay?"

"I'm sorr –"

John spoke softly, his voice tender and caressing. "Don't…we can't go out like this. Not with apologies and…Rodney. Don't."

The flames rose higher and fingers clutched with more desperation.

Sheppard smiled regretfully as a thought came to him. "I win."

"What?"

"I win. My comeback account's fuller than yours. I win. The next team day, we do the beach thing."

"No team. No more team day." Rescue would come, but it would be too late. Rodney could be comforted by one thing; he would not be the one left behind to mourn, forced to go on with life as if the Golden Boy of Atlantis had not disappeared…in a puff of smoke. Teyla, Ronon, Elizabeth, Carson and Radek. They would suffer for a much longer time than he and Sheppard would. Granted, they would suffer most violent, indescribable pain, but theirs would not be enduring.

Ignoring McKay's response, John continued. "You'll come in the water this time. Whatever the winner wants, the winner gets; that was the deal."

"You didn't win. You cheated, all the time! You counted wrong and decked points for absurd reasons!"

"I don't cheat! You insult my honour!"

"You have no honour. I thought we'd established that it had become an unattainable dream they day you were born an American."

"I win. That was weak! I absolutely win! Your pasty uncoordinated ass is going on that surfboard you're going to make us."

The fire rose higher, reaching for them.

"I'm not…" Rodney drew in a sharp breath as a tall flame brushed against his toes. "I'm not building you…a surfboard. I have better things to do with my time." Rodney's voice was high-pitched and breathy, but he still played the game.

Sheppard held on to his control with both hands, keeping his voice teasingly affectionate. "That was the deal. You're the loser, you do what I want."

"For a _day_! Not forever!"

"Well, a surfboard is part of it. If you can manage to build one _on_ that day, the more power to you, but otherwise, you get to work!"

"AH! FUCK!"

Fire had reached them, licking at their feet. At the best of times, Sheppard did not enjoy having his toes licked. He now had to admit that, that one time with the kinky woman he'd picked up, was becoming a fond memory.

McKay tried to move away from the heat but was unsuccessful. The bonds were tight. Pain surged through his entire being from the bottom up. He had never thought burning would be this atrocious. "Oh God. Oh God. John!" The smoke would soon take his consciousness away. Yes. He breathed in deeply.

"That's it, Rodney. Breathe." Oh yeah, the scientist had the best ideas!

The two men inhaled smoke, together, their fingers still linked. It was not enough, the fresh air entering their lungs with a minimal amount of smoke. McKay screamed and Sheppard yelped. They coughed, choked and cursed, clinging to one another.

"John. Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm glad…I'm glad you're here. I wish you weren't, but you…I wanted to…"

"Yeah. I'm glad I'm going…with you. I could do with a genius on the other side…"

"I don't. I've never believed, but, yeah. I…hope I get to go with you…"

"Teyla prays for your soul all the time, you'll be alright."

"Ok. Right. I'll…all that stuff, John…I…oh, that hurts! That hurts!"

"Like a bitch."

Fire ate at the wood directly below them, reaching up for a taste of skin every few seconds.

"All that stuff…John? With the…and the…" Without his hands, McKay found the gaps in his speech went unexplained.

"Rodney."

"…fighting, and that time, in the jumper when –"

"Rodney!"

"­­ – I just…I didn't mean to hit you. I was. You made me…"

"RODNEY!"

"What?"

"I don't care about that crap. No matter what, we're family. Good and bad, we do it together.

"Ah…yes, family…I…I-I-I-I…uh..."

John saved Rodney since sentimentality was not his strongest suit. "I know…"

Those were the last words spoken. The fire chose this moment to latch onto the wooden frames that supported the two men and there was nothing but screams and pain.


	6. Chapter 6

Angela, you know this fic would be nothing but a badly-written, plotless blunder without you!

**Notes: **I really didn't mean to be evil! It didn't actually occur to me that, uh, that was a rotten way to leave them, because, well, I know what comes next! Read on and you will too. Oh, and, seriously! You guys are so nice! Gosh, I'm impossibly thrilled that you like the fic! Thank you so much. _Really_, thank you.

**Chapter 6: Ashes in the jumper. Ashes in the city.**

Teyla and Ronon ran as fast as they could once they had requested backup from Atlantis. They hurried to the village silently, all their energy spent on the run rather than useless thoughts.

Elizabeth had requested they step through the gate, provide more information and depart with the backup team, but Teyla had refused, speaking to Elizabeth more forcibly than she ever had. Ronon had caught a glimpse of Teyla Emmagan, daughter of Tagan, leader of the Athosian people. He knew her most as Teyla, team-mate, stick-fighting marvel and friend, but her position was of no surprise to him; Teyla was a natural leader, strong willed, confident and caring.

They ran until their breaths came in pants and the village could be seen. One gesture from Ronon sent them off-course, into the forest. There they were forced to walk slowly, noiselessly, so not to jeopardise their position. The foliage whispered with the breeze, high above Teyla and Ronon's head, louder than the quietness of their steps.

They reached the edges of the forest and the sound of cheering grew louder, as did the screams. Long, pain-filled, desperate screams. They crouched behind the last line of trees and looked upon the centre ground. The villagers danced more enthusiastically than before, stepping close to the fires which sent sparks to the sky. The cheered and laughed with a joyful lack of restraint.

Teyla's eyes found the source of the beastly screams. Her hand latched on Ronon's arm. She inhaled sharply before speaking his name. "Ronon."

He too, had seen. "We have to –"

"Go. Go free them. I will occupy the villagers until backup comes from Atlantis."

Ronon nodded and left the protective shadow of the tall trees. Teyla stepped out behind him, her eyes on Rodney's face, a testament to the obscene amount of pain the human body could suffer. She took hold of her P-90 and held it firmly before crossing into the lighted circle. The villagers had seen them and stopped their dance. A few had gone hurriedly and Teyla could only assume they had done so to fetch weapons. She raised her P-90 higher and spoke, becoming the leader she seldom could be since joining the Atlantis team.

"We have come for our people. Do not move and you will not be harmed."

Ronon heard Teyla's voice under the screams and knew she would do her task with great prowess. He did not see a way to do the same. He could only fulfil his duty with speed and a distinct lack of skills. He walked around the pyre, evaluating his position. The flames had not yet latched onto Sheppard and McKay, though they were much too close; fire reached out to the skin but seemed to prefer the wood. Ronon could see large blisters one the men's upper bodies, and quickly returned his sight to the large pile of burning wood, searching for a way to reach the men trapped beyond his reach.

He found the easiest path and proceeded to step into the fire. One foot on a fiery log brought hot, sizzling pain to his leg but he continued with his mission, bringing the other one in the blaze. His hands closed around the wooden frame holding Sheppard and he pulled with all his strength. Sheppard screamed with renewed vigour when he crossed the flames that encircled the two men, but Ronon had no time to tend to him. He deposited his burned burden on the ground and turned back to seek McKay.

Jostled from Sheppard's removal, the frame had slipped, falling to the right and bringing Rodney's head dangerously close aflame wood. It slipped further as Ronon reached for it, stretching further to stop its descent. McKay's body was engulfed by flames for a mere second and his screams were as the ones heard during cullings, when the Wraith took everything a man possessed. Ronon gave one strong pull and carried the frame to its counterpart that held Sheppard to the ground.

Both men were disoriented and terrified, but Ronon was forced to ignore them in favour of the raging villagers that threatened Teyla. He moved to her side, disregarding the way his leather trousers stuck to his skin, pulling it away from his flesh with each step. He drew closer and smiled with feral enjoyment at the sight of seven Marines taking position behind his team-mate.

Teyla had fired two short bursts from her weapon and that had succeeded in cowing the villagers. The man she had traded with, Tlehir, stood before them all, his face set with anger. "You are a traitor, have betrayed the traditions of this world! You do not trade with us only to renege on the agreement!"

"I am a trader. We owed nothing to you. Now please, move away, or I will be forced to fire upon you." She had been taught to respect other's beliefs, but tonight she would forget those teachings and respect only her own. Respect of others, their lives, was more important than any traditions one could hold! You did not squander the precious gift of life on perverse enjoyment, on sordid entertainment! She would not allow her people to come to harm so villagers could dance! She heard a long, terrified scream and thought, with an unbearable guilt, that she had allowed it. When left to protect the team, she had failed.

The villagers who had departed returned with weapons and stood by Tlehir, a fierce glare in their eyes. Teyla readied herself to fire. They stepped towards her and she unleashed the full power of the machinery she held. It wounded the first line of villagers and they fell. They were left to hold their entrails in and suffer the pain as the rest of their people continued to advance on Teyla. She fired once more, as did Ronon who had joined her resistance. He killed villagers with precise shots.

"Please, desist on your advance or you will all fall."

The inhabitants of this world took three more steps before the fierceness fell away from their faces and they looked once more the benign people they had seemed to be, much to Teyla's surprise. She did not have to wonder long for an explanation.

"Do as the lady says and no one else gets hurt."

She felt a satisfied smile tug at the corner of her mouth. Surely, the villagers had seen the soldiers step out of thin air. That was her favourite trick, to step out of the puddle jumper and scare the bejesus out of the people, as the Colonel was fond of saying. It held enough surprise to be of a distinct advantage.

As if following her train of thought, Ronon moved away. "Sheppard and McKay need assistance."

"We'll handle this," the leader of the rescue team said.

Teyla nodded and left the villagers to the men that had come from Atlantis. She followed Ronon hurriedly as his long stride took him quickly to their fallen friends.

McKay and Sheppard lay where they had been left, coughing with great effort, breathing heavily. They moved restlessly, attempting to free themselves. McKay, dressed only in a loincloth, had sustained much damage to his lower body. His skin was a violent red, littered with blisters, their quantity diminishing as her gaze roamed up to his head. His face was a grimace of pain, as was the Colonel's. He had been fortunate to regain his clothing, less his boots, and as such had been lightly protected. It hung in taters on his trashing frame, blisters visible on his legs. The soles of both men's feet were a mass of large blisters. Teyla crouched beside Rodney, looking over at the fire as it crept closer and closer to the central spike. They had been too late, but early enough to avoid their men a gruesome end.

Ronon knelt beside Sheppard and spoke loudly, searching for the man beyond the red, blotchy skin. "Sheppard! Stop moving!"

Teary, red-rimmed, bloodshot, hazel eyes blinked open briefly, but Sheppard only coughed before they shut.

Teyla's hand hovered over Rodney's skin, unwilling to touch and cause further anguish. "Rodney. Rodney, you must not move, you will only hurt yourself."

Ronon shook his head and answered Teyla's plea. "They don't hear us. Cut the leather, we'll get them to Atlantis."

"Yes, Doctor Beckett will see to them."

They took out their knives and cut the leather that held arms and ankles to the frames, careful to avoid touching Sheppard and McKay's skin. Rodney opened his eyes a fraction just as Teyla brought the knife to cut the leather around his waist. She was unaware of his semi-conscious gaze on her until he gave a frightened yelp and doubled his effort to move away. His stomach moved and the knife that was busily cutting the leather slipped against his skin. The screams that had abated came with renewed vigour. Sheppard's followed half a second later. Teyla's distress rose with the cries. She gritted her teeth and snapped the ties with a strong pull.

Free from their bonds, the men writhed on the ground, their damaged skin rubbing against the grainy sand.

"Rodney. Be calm, you are in no danger." The sound of P-90s firing belied Teyla's reassurance.

"There's nothing we can do here." Ronon watched the fight between Marines and villagers, happy to see that his side was winning. He rose to his feet and said, "I'll help," before throwing himself into the fray.

Teyla watched him go, noticing the limp he was unable to hide. She remained crouching beside Rodney, soothing both men with softly spoken words. The sounds of the battle reached them, the sight one she had become accustomed to. Villagers fell under the spray of bullets; many ran, only to be reached by a ray of red light. None would survive because these men were trained to kill. They did so efficiently and would not cease until the last opponent had fallen, or someone ordered a stand-down. The order would not come, their leader had fallen, and perhaps that only enticed them to the kill. Seeing the retreat the villagers attempted, Teyla wondered if she should not restrain the rescue team, prevent Ronon from running after them as he did, giving into his thirst for retribution.

Rescue became carnage as more bronzed bodies fell, their blood seeping into the sand. Sounds of battle filled the night: cries of the defeated as bullets were fired and hit their mark, the discharge of P-90s and one Satedan weapon.

Teyla heard those, a violent background to the whimpering of the injured men upon which she kept guard. "All is well. Do not worry. We will take you back to Atlantis; you will be well cared for," she soothed.

Suddenly, only the sounds of a peaceful night could be heard. The animals had gone to hide, the villagers were no more, only crunching sand and the sparks of bonfires remained.

Ronon reached his team-mates before any other. He had eliminated the threat and avenged his honour as well as Sheppard and McKay's. He was satisfied, until he saw the frown marring Teyla's features.

"Killing them all was unnecessary."

Ronon shrugged. "Not everything we do is out of necessity."

She stared at him in silence before turning to speak to the assembled men. "They require medical attention. We must return to Atlantis."

Four men lifted Sheppard and McKay off the ground and carried them to the jumper with as much care as would be given to a newborn. The injured continued to fight the assistance, thrashing as forcibly as their limited strength would allow, moaning their distress and ire in the same breath. They were settled on the benches in the rear portion of the ship as it rose gracefully in the air. The road to safety and medical care was a clear path in the dark sky.

The beautiful bodies of this world's inhabitants, so admired less than a day before, rested grotesquely in the sand. The wind carried the scent of blood to the animals that had once been their preys. Only a pile of SGC-issued effects, large boot-prints in the sand and the casings of bullets were left to bear witness to the Atlanteans' play in the night's tragedy.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: We all jump up.**

The flight to Atlantis was tense, filled with moans and disconnected words. Teyla's quiet reassurances could be heard, louder when the moans morphed into sharp cries.

Ronon stood between the two benches and watched the scene unfold. His injuries were minor, a dull throbbing of his lower legs. He watched Teyla hold John's wrist loosely as she spoke to both injured men.

"Shhhh, we will be home shortly. Do not struggle, I will not hurt you."

This was not Ronon's area, he was too rough, his voice too harsh for him to try his hand at comfort.

A plaintive whine escaped Rodney as he hit his foot against the hard metal of the jumper. Ronon bent over him and spoke as softly as he could. "McKay. Don't move." He dared not touch him.

There was a moment of lucidity for Sheppard, when Rodney cried out. He connected the hand and the tone of voice that followed with safety. "Teyla?"

"Yes. We will be in Atlantis soon, John. Do not worry."

"Rodney?"

"He is near."

The concern on John's face eased away slightly and he nodded. "How're you?"

"We are well." There was no need for her to enquire about _his_ well-being.

He nodded tiredly. "Good."

She brushed a hand over his hair and smiled sadly. "It is." They were well, but at what price? An entire village had died for this flight. Would the two men lying in pain have wanted that? What would they have said, what orders would have come from their leader? More importantly, what would he say upon learning what their rescue had cost?.

These questions floated in Teyla's head, but she could not find the heart to be affected. She knew what they had done was wrong, but were she faced with a similar situation she would still sit and watch as murder was committed. Us or them, she thought, and was not comforted in the least.

They landed in Atlantis and she asked the Ancestors to bless Carson Beckett, for he stood at the ready by the jumper's hatch. She had played this scene often enough to know where to stand, what to do, what to say.

Following the gurneys toward the infirmary she convinced herself it had been for the best, they had done right. Us or them, she repeated until she could believe it. As Ronon was forced onto an infirmary bed, she retreated to the waiting area.

It was a few hours before news came of Sheppard and McKay's conditions. Stable, well on their way, resting; all those words that eased awaiting friends' worries. Teyla and Ronon, who had been tended to and ordered – with limited success – to rest, were allowed a closer look at their slumbering team-mates.

"Only a quick look, and don't get too close. Infection is unlikely, but it's better to be safe than sorry," Carson said, smiling gently, understanding that he held a lucky position in the city. He was the first to get the news, in fact made the news, and when the outlook was as rosy as this one, he was pleased to share. Rosy, apt description, he thought. Rosy, tender skin covered the lower bodies of his patients, but he was hopeful, they would heal. From what he had heard, Ronon had pulled them out just in time. In Atlantis, damages from smoke inhalation and dehydration had been countered, and first and second-degree burns on the patients' skin had been tended to. Carson indicated the beds various members of Sheppard's team occupied on a weekly basis. They knew the way.

Ronon moved closer to the bed, but Teyla held him back with a hand to his forearm. "It would be wise to stay away. Doctor Beckett is right; we would not want to risk infection."

He nodded and took back his step. They stood, side by side, looking at reddened and blistered patches of skin, crumpled eyebrows speaking of the turmoil behind those resting eyes. IVs and oxygen tubes kept Rodney and John attached to the infirmary. They were shiny from the balm that had been applied to the damaged skin, thrashing under the light bed sheet, whimpering when the scratchy material moved against blisters. Reassured, though stricken by the sight, Teyla and Ronon exited the room and went in search of Carson.

They found him, elbows on his desk, chin resting on his linked hands. He heard them come and rose to meet them.

"They have had a difficult day," Teyla said when they were standing together.

"That they have, but they'll pull through. It looks worse than it is. You saved their hides, literally." Carson chuckled at the turn of phrase only he understood.

"That is a relief," Teyla said, smiling indulgently. The ways of the Earthlings would never cease to mystify her.

"It is. Now, you two should get some food into you, and rest…after you've been to see Elizabeth, she's expecting you. I'd prefer you stay the night, Ronon, but…" He trailed off at Ronon's glare.

Sighing, Teyla smiled and nodded. "Thank you, Doctor."

"Get some rest. I'll call you if there's anything. Don't forget to apply the lotion to your legs, Ronon. Come see my in the morning, or I'll have you brought here. Don't think I won't. Marines are more afraid of me than of you, they won't hesitate."

Ronon and Teyla exited the infirmary in companionable silence. As they drew closer to the central tower, and the debriefing, Teyla's thoughts turned to their defence. Us or them, she thought, surely Elizabeth would understand.

They reached the meeting room and entered to find the team of Marines sitting, talking and laughing; seemingly unaffected by the day's events. Teyla knew it was not so, that these young men would now have new images to link with the sight of blood and the scent of smoke. Images to add to their steadily filling memories.

Elizabeth appeared at the door as if she had been watching, waiting for their arrival. "Thank you for waiting, gentlemen. Let's get this debriefing under way, shall we?"

She took her place at the head of the table and linked her hands together as she usually did. Teyla prepared herself for the tale. The team leader spoke first, relating the events following their arrival. Teyla waited for him to say they had killed them all, to say they had committed an atrocity, but he didn't. He related the facts, without details, without telling Doctor Weir that they had killed an entire village to save two men.

He finished.

"Thank you, Lieutenant Stevens. Is that all?" Elizabeth looked at the rest of the team, who nodded, before she turned to Teyla and Ronon. "What happened? We hardly got any information out of you two before you shut down the gate." She was not angry, merely curious and concerned.

Teyla breathed in deeply and spoke. "Everything went well, until the trade. Ronon and I were asked for Colonel Sheppard and Doctor McKay in exchange for a sizeable portion of the Gapho's crop. We refused, but they believed we wished to barter. When we explained that we did not trade people, they became agitated and spoke harsh words and threats. They took the Colonel and Doctor away, tied them and enclosed them in a wooden cage. The Colonel sent us back to the gate, for backup, but we were unable to leave without angering the Gaphos and causing further harm to the Colonel and Doctor McKay. The Gaphos are skilled in hand to hand combat, and would have proven too numerous for Ronon and I."

Elizabeth nodded her understanding.

"Colonel Sheppard and Doctor McKay were forced to fight each other, with sticks. Doctor McKay was hit; he fell to the ground, his head colliding with rock. He was still unconscious when we left for the gate. I cannot say what happened next, but it seems that they would not fight, for when we returned Colonel Sheppard and Doctor McKay were tied to wooden frames, atop a pyre. Ronon freed them whileI tried to speak with the leader of the Gaphos. The rescue team arrived and we fled."

Go on, she thought to herself, and tell Elizabeth what you have done. Do not lie; it is unbecoming and unworthy of you. Teyla watched the eyes of the men surrounding the table. Some downcast, some anxious, some devoid of any feelings. Her gaze encountered Ronon's and she breathed in deeply once more, gathering the courage to admit to the carnage. She looked Elizabeth in the eyes and spoke clearly. "We killed them all. The Gaphos would not relent in their attacks. They are all dead."

Elizabeth's sharp intake of breath preceded her stern question. "How many?"

"Forty, perhaps less if by chance any escaped through the woods."

"I didn't see any leave," Ronon said, the air of defiance surrounding him. He had done no wrong. They had wanted to harm him, he had simply been faster. It was a matter of survival.

"I see." Elizabeth seemed to be at a loss for words. The meeting room was quiet for some time before she spoke again. "I will conclude this debriefing with Colonel Sheppard and Doctor McKay's accounts. I'll expect your reports will be on the Colonel's desk for review before his release from the infirmary. Dismissed." She rose and walked stiffly to her office.

Teyla made to follow, but the door closed before she could reach it. She returned to Ronon and, together, they made their way to their respective quarters. At the door to her own, Ronon stopped and regarded her.

"We were right to kill them. They would've killed us."

Teyla did not answer.

"There's nothing you could've said."

"It does not make it right."

"It's not wrong," Ronon said before turning toward his door.

Teyla watched him disappear. "Disrespect and death are always wrong." She entered her quarters.


	8. Chapter 8

Angela, where would I be without you? Probably curled up in a corner, twitching and eating the paint off the wall, so thank God you're around!

**Notes:** Light is not always better. Cream, chocolate mousse and the ending to this fic don't do so well when they're light. They're not bad, but the heavier stuff is a lot more satisfying…

**Chapter 8: We all fall down – Take 2**

Scream. All she could do was scream. Just this once, away from her responsibilities, here, with her men – brothers – she could release the horror. Just feel without worrying about the implications of those feelings.

Back on the scene of the crime is what Rodney had whispered as he stepped out of the jumper. Teyla believed them to be fitting words.

So much blood in the sand, in her mind, on her hands; deaths, too many deaths.

One scream, the release. Now, she had to forget about herself and free the souls that lingered.

She let the handful of sand she held fall, slowly, trickling through her fingers in a rain of golden dust.

Ronon held out a hand to help her up. He had followed her when John and Rodney had watched her go. He had followed because she needed him to; the weight of her guilt would send her crashing to the ground was he not there to support her.

Ronon watched Teyla walk around the sanded area, taking care to avoid the remains of their kill, what had been left by the forest's beasts. While he knew guilt and had felt its presence before he could not regret these deaths, Sheppard and McKay's absence would've been much harder to bear. A life of kill or be killed had been his for so long, and would never cease to be. Friends were few, enemies were everywhere and a man had to choose; do what felt right, or do what was right. Subtle nuance: what you thought right or what you should think right.

Teyla returned to her backpack. She took out the tea set she had cautiously wrapped and settled it on the grass, not far from the communal grave they had created. The leaves from the leather pouch were carefully measured and the hot water from the flask poured. The oil was set to burn, releasing its spicy scent, the one she hated to inhale. She sat down legs crossed, back straight and gestured for Ronon to join her. He sat beside her, not opposite as she had expected, and she handed him a small cup. He took it, cradling it between his hands, and waited.

"Wish that the Gapho people forgive us and find their place in eternity," was all she said. She did not lift the cup to her lips for some time, simply staring away, thinking.

Ronon watched her, and did as instructed. He wished the Gaphos a secure place in the continuing life. He did not think of their end further to avoid a flow of uncharitable thoughts through his mind. Instead, he imagined the beautiful people as they had been before crossing their paths. Long, lean, glowing. Good fighters, smart in their movements. He imagined them climbing the Honoured Steps, those of his mother's stories. It had been so long since he'd thought of what came after. So busy staying alive, he had no time to contemplate what might happen once he was no more. The Gaphos could climb the Honoured Steps; Ronon had taken their sins and would carry them until he died.

He wondered who would take his, since it was unlikely anyone from Sateda would witness his last moment, would welcome the sins and make them their own. Perhaps…perhaps he would tell Teyla, or Sheppard, of his people's belief and they would allow him a sinless death.

Teyla drank the bitter tea. It was tepid against her tongue, but she did not grimace. She savoured the ritual; asking for forgiveness, giving a part of her soul to gain it.

This gesture had always meant so much, brought peace to her. Not this time. She felt it a travesty. How could she ask forgiveness for what had been taken from this world? Precious life had been wasted; men…women…

No children. Had there been children? She could not remember. Perhaps they had escaped through the woods. There was no one here, the village looked as it had the last time they had come, but the huts could have been emptied. She had not ventured further than the centre ground. The thought of children forced to the forest in order to flee from her was heartbreaking.

She finished her tea and placed the set back in her bag. She shouldered it before following Ronon, returning to the lives that had been saved at the cost of many lost.

**--OOOOO--**

Where they sat, slightly removed, away from the scene, they could hear the scream, long and steady. It spooked the birds away.

To Sheppard, it sounded like anger, disgust, horror. It sounded like something too big that couldn't be contained anymore. He wished he could go there and stop the sound, not only to avoid hearing her pain, but also to prevent her from feeling it. He had always wanted to achieve the impossible.

McKay listened, the note never changed. One flat sound, sad and hurting. He knew Ronon was over there, but John and he had stayed behind; it was strange, how easy it seemed to be sitting here, back against a tree, listening to Teyla's innermost feelings, spilled out, riding on a note.

"We shouldn't be here," Rodney said, because he couldn't quite let go of his inhibitions. He still felt like an intruder, a voyeur. It seemed easy, but it wasn't.

"Should've gone with Ronon."

"No. I mean, we shouldn't have come at all."

Sheppard turned his head, leaving it resting against the bark. The dark glasses he wore hid his eyes, but McKay could guess what he would find there: some curiosity, an attentive gaze and a lot of concern.

Sheppard didn't speak. He waited. McKay was more than capable of conducting this conversation on his own.

"This is a little personal; she wouldn't want us listening to her, would she?"

Sigh. John had to answer this, make it all better for Rodney. It was what he did. "I don't think she minds. She might not want us beside her, but she still needs us around."

McKay was silent for a long time.

Sheppard listened and thought he should've done more, said more. He should've been up to the job, but he hadn't, just wanting to forget. If he didn't think about it, if he didn't face it, he could pretend it had never happened. It didn't work that way, because here it was, staring him in the face. If he walked about two hundred feet he'd see the centre ground, see the pyre, the empty, desolate village. Teyla, kneeling on the ground, her fingers digging in the sand. Screaming.

"Do you think…we were worth this?"

Damn. Rodney never did things in half. He was too honest, too eager to get to the truth of the matter. He wanted to know, wanted to see, to prove. Sometimes, like now, Sheppard hated that about him. What was he supposed to say? "Maybe."

Rodney huffed impatiently. "Can't you just answer?"

"I did."

"Maybe's not an answer."

"That's all I can give you."

Rodney pulled on the grass. A few blades were dislodged and he played with them, rolled them between his fingers, stroked his palm with the tip. "I need more."

"What for?" John didn't really know what Rodney wanted to hear. He'd say it, if he had some hint. He'd say what they all wanted to hear, just so it would go away. The reports, Teyla's shamed face as she recounted the events during the last debrief. Elizabeth's indecision over the correct way to handle this. He said he'd take care of it, but he didn't want to, didn't know how. He wished it would just go away, wished he had some sense of the correct behaviour. He wished he could do something for his team, for _his._

"I just do," Rodney said, shrugging.

"It doesn't matter. Not really. What's done is done, you know that. We lived, they died."

"All of them."

"Yeah, but thinking about it isn't going to bring them back." Sheppard felt a sharp stab of disgust for himself as he spoke those words. Taking the easy way out, John? He ignored his own question.

Rodney looked at Sheppard, intently. "I don't understand. How do you do that? Not…not be human anymore, about things. You turn it all off, you go away and leave a soldier boy behind."

"That's what I've been trained to do." Sheppard had the knack of forgetting what didn't feel good, disregarding events that upset his ordered life. It happened, he put it away, and it stayed there. If it snuck back, there was always a distraction, or, as was the case in Pegasus, a crisis. It never truly worked, he always found a random memory lying around, but quickly scooped it up and put it back where it belonged without too much thought. He never spoke of it.

"You do things and say things, and I don't know who you are. You're telling me you've been trained to become somebody else at the first sign of trouble? That's not wholly comforting, Sheppard."

"I know, but I can't do my job if I think about it."

"What…" Rodney let the blades of grass fall back to their previous home as his arm swept out, gesturing in the direction of the centre ground. He breathed in deeply before continuing, "What you wanted me to do, you _ordered,_ was in the not thinking category, right? You become stupid, that's what not thinking does. You can't do your job if you're stupid, and you didn't do your job, either. You're supposed to protect me, and you couldn't do it."

"I tried," Sheppard cried out in frustration. "If you'd only listened, just done what I told you to do, none of this would've happened, we wouldn't be here. Teyla wouldn't be grieving like that for a bunch of people who were going to kill _us_!" It wasn't McKay's fault, not really, but Sheppard couldn't stop the blame; it landed at his friend's feet by itself.

There was movement coming from John's left. McKay's arm brushed against his as the man stood.

"Asshole," McKay muttered, heading toward the jumper.

Sheppard jumped to his feet. "You're not so great yourself, Rodney McKay! You're an A-class asshole and conceited know-it-all! You think you could've done better? You want to lead this team? You're welcomed to it! Screw-ups and near-deaths and fucking emotional trauma; you want them? You want to go face Teyla and shoulder the responsibility of mass murder? You go and do it!"

"ENOUGH!"

Teyla walked out from the shadow of the trees, her chest lifting and falling with fast breaths. Ronon stood beside her, impassive, just watching, but Teyla had anger on her face. Waves of fury came from her, wrapped around Sheppard and suddenly he was ashamed. What had he been saying?

"Teyla I –" he began, only to be interrupted.

"I am not interested in your input at the moment, Colonel." She threw Sheppard's rank at him, saying it as if to feel the word in her mouth left a bitter after-taste. "I asked to return to this world in order to accept my guilt and what we have done here. I hoped I could…" She closed her eyes, breathed in deeply. Ronon's hand landed on the back of her neck, strong, supportive. "I believe the soul needs help, to go to the light. I came here to provide that assistance…and I have, I did. I believe the souls of the Gaphos can now reach a better existence."

She took a step, less furious, more saddened. "How can you come back to this, and still find it in you to fight?" She turned to Rodney. "After what we have done and what has been done to you, why are you using petty insults? I will never fully understand your ways, your reserve, and I accept that. It is not hard to look beyond our differences and see the similarities, but today it seems like the width of both our galaxies separates us. Their combined breadth has come between us, at a time when we would benefit from one another's understanding."

McKay hung his head. Sheppard turned his and looked away. He wanted to be there for Teyla, for his team, his family, but even after all this time, all they had seen together, he couldn't let go, unwilling to add to their worries.

"We live cruel lives. Death and violence is all around us, and the only way to counter their effects is to turn toward the good life offers us. We have each other, and I will give anything to keep you all. Anything." She turned, walked away, looking at something only she could see. "The Gaphos…we disposed of their lives to preserve yours. I cannot fault it; I would do it again…" Her hand went up to her cheek and she brushed a finger under her eye. "I would do it again," she whispered, "and I cannot be certain I agree with that. I cannot hold myself proudly knowing that."

Sheppard looked at McKay, stricken face, hurting, sad blue eyes. He looked at Ronon, a little lost but strong and proud. He returned his gaze to Teyla, who had turned toward them, eyes wet, cheeks moistened by fallen tears.

"I would do it again, and I do not want this bloodshed to drive us apart! I will overcome it, only if you are there to help me."

Sheppard felt his breath stutter, his chest tighten, his throat constrict. He stepped forward, looked in her eyes and whispered, "I should've been there–"

"You are here now," Teyla said. "We are all here now."

Sheppard let her guide him to the jumper, Ronon and McKay following quietly. The clanging of metal under heavy boots was welcoming. He wanted away from this place and the existential questions that might arise if he stayed. You live to forget, and if you do not, you might forget to live.

Sheppard took place in his seat, heard the others do the same. Each in the correct place, but something was not right. The jumper did not lift.

"John?" Teyla's gentle voice made him turn to her. Concern on her face, no trace of the earlier animosity, she looked at him as she always did. The sadness she carried had lessened a fraction, but not enough, never enough.

He shook his head, returned his thoughts to the jumper and his sight to the window before him. She stood from her seat, placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I can't fly," he said, before clearing his throat. "I can't fly with you looking over my shoulder, it makes me nervous." He tried for the carefree smile, but missed.

"You do not need to fly."

"We won't get home if I don't, and I don't want to hear Rodney moan if we walk."

"There is no need for us to do anything. We can sit; wait until we wish to leave."

"They'll be waiting for us back home." Sheppard put his hands to the controls and the jumper lit up.

Teyla took hold of his hands and placed them on his lap. "No, John. There is nothing outside this jumper, no one but us."

Silence penetrated the jumper and settled comfortably. Teyla returned to her seat, turned toward Ronon who smiled gently at her. Rodney was slouching in his seat, seemingly attempting to disappear.

Hurt. They were aching, all of them. Aching for the inhabitants of this world that were no more; aching for themselves; aching for each other.

Ronon bent forward, his arm coming to rest on the back of Teyla's seat. Rodney looked furtively their way. The expected pang of loneliness never came. He straightened in his seat. This, he might be able to do; after all, he successfully defied death on a weekly basis and faced his fears daily.

"Family," he whispered shyly.

Teyla and Ronon turned their gaze to him. Rodney was hiding in plain sight, eyes downcast, shoulders rounded, linked hands pressed between his knees.

Sheppard turned in his seat, curious. The look on Rodney's face gave him pause. A little bit of fear, a little bit of vulnerability, but a lot of defiance. What the body language said, the face contradicted. Conflict. Sheppard knew that look; it meant Rodney was doing something he did not want to do, was not sure he could do, but would certainly try his best.

"We're family. Good or bad, we do it together. I'm not fully competent in that domain; family was never anything like that to me, but that's what you said, John. Good or bad. This is…bad, very bad. I can't think about it, I don't understand how we came to this. All I know are facts. That's simple, and facts are we're alive and we're together. I don't see how we can go further. We can regret what happened, or the way it happened, but we can't…change it."

"No. We cannot," Teyla agreed.

"I wouldn't take it back." Ronon sat back in his seat and crossed his arms. He knew it wasn't right, but it was his truth.

Sheppard's fingers dug in his knees. He wanted to take it back, make it his choice, but couldn't. He hadn't been able to protect them, had failed at his job, as he was failing at this, whatever it was. He needed to take a stand, make them understand. "Off-world; we were on a mission, it was my responsibility. When we're out, I'm in charge." He was in turmoil, but couldn't allow it. He needed to be the leader, never doubt, always move forward and take responsibility for his command. Away, it all needed to be put away.

"We saw how well that turned out." Rodney's voice was too gentle for words to sting.

But they still did. Sheppard turned to him. "What else was I supposed to do?"

"I don't know, but not that."

"I had no choice! There wasn't a good and a bad there, ok? There was just bad on bad on bad. I was just trying to keep you safe! I was just trying…" He broke off, sending his gaze outside, before admitting softly, "…to keep you all safe."

"We made mistakes," Ronon offered.

Sheppard ran a hand through his hair and let out a mirthless laugh. "Yeah, you can say that again."

"We made mistakes," Ronon repeated.

Teyla was surprised, that is how she explained the laugh. She tried to smother it, but it broke free. The memories of the past few weeks retreated slightly. The debriefing, Elizabeth's horror each time she heard the events of the rescue mission. The men that had come to the planet, too young, too new, afraid of losing those who many said were the heart and soul of the city. The pending evaluation from Earth, their opinion on the way to handle the situation. Death, destruction; people that were no more fell away from the forefront of Teyla's mind. For one short moment, Teyla felt the veil of shame lift. Her laughter, light and bright, filled the jumper.

Ronon followed in her path, as he always would. Rodney was not far behind, shaking his head but not denying himself this moment.

John looked at them all, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. "How about a spin around the planet? We don't have to go home just yet." He couldn't help them, but he could do this. Take them up and away into the bright blue sky, where they could be free and safe until it was time to go back down.

Good or bad, they did it together, and maybe someday the good would take away some of the sting the bad left behind.

**Fini! I hope…**

(Much thanks to those who nudged. I hope there will always be someone to point at my, let's say, lesser ideas. One can only improve. :))


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